Hidden
by truthsetfree
Summary: New. All OCs. Ongoing for as long as I feel like it. Anything you recognize does not belong to me.
1. Chapter 1

"Right through here. Careful, there's a step there. Grandpa had a funny idea of architectural features. I'll bring up some cocoa in a bit if it's quiet. Try to settle in."

She closed the door behind her and took a breath. It was a risk. It was a big risk. But it was worth it, wasn't it?

She started down the stairs. She'd heard things. Things she didn't believe at first. Who could be so cruel to children? But then she'd seen things. And she'd been forced to believe by her own eyes.

_Shattered glass sparking at sunrise and smoke that stung her eyes from the shop she'd passed or purchased things from for thirty years. Closed. Tiny patent leather shoes, and satin slippers, and sturdy (still muddy) boots, in a tumbled tower. And then, finally, mattresses stuffed with Mudblood hair, sold openly at market. Piles of ashes where people once stood._

She shuddered and wished she could afford to erase it all from her mind. But no. If she hadn't seen it, she'd never have believed it. Charity Merritt could not afford to forget. Not yet anyway.

Her hand shook a bit on her wand, causing a clatter in the cabinet before her. Eventually, the right pot emerged, and she waved it to the fire, where it hooked itself with a click.

Milk, sugar, cocoa, stir…

In the tales her mother told her, they arrived with a flash and a bang, sometimes a string of spiders. Instead they came through her unlocked front door, without a knock between the three of them. They just walked in like they owned every stone, every timber. And she just stood there, rooted to the spot, and watched them look around.

The tallest spoke first.

"Where are they?"

"Where are who?"

"The Mudbloods you're hiding."

"There are no Mudbloods here."

"You're lying. We'll find them."

"There are no Mudbloods here," she repeated, stupidly she thought, though she'd been aiming for steadfast.

"Give her the serum."

Oh Merlin. Of course they'd have Veritaserum.

"Sit down."

She swallowed.

"Bu-but I'll burn my cocoa."

"Awful lot of cocoa in that pot for just one person."

"It's uh, for a cake," she said, banking on the hope that they depended on others to do their baking.

"Sit down, now."

There was no mistaking the menace. She sat.

"You'll like this. Cain here brewed it himself."

"Now open wide."

Cain. The name sank in, as the figure neared her. She'd known a Cain in school. He'd been a Chess Club champion, and had dated one of the Gardening Club's officers for a while. What was her name? Solanum Thorne. That was right.

Three drops that tasted like lemon. It wasn't Veritaserum. Not proper Veritaserum anyway. Their arms were crossed, and she couldn't see the faces behind the masks, but something about the way they were standing made them look bored. They were bored as she sat shivering in front of the hearth in her own house.

_Mudbloods, they had called them. Mudbloods. A word she had never cared for. A word which had never fallen from her lips. Mudblood. The meaning was clear to anyone. Mud, dirty, in need of being scrubbed, belonging outside. Blood, the liquid that they bled. No child in Charity's mind could ever have mud for blood. And so when they asked her again, even with whatever serum they had given her compelling her to speak only truth, she replied, calmly and honestly…_

"There are no Mudbloods here."

"She's telling the truth," said the one who'd administered the drops.

"Come on, this is pointless. She clearly doesn't know where they are."

"You wouldn't dare defy the Dark Lord, would you, witch?"

Her head twitched side to side in a silent "no," as she held her breath, not ready yet to trust what might come out of her mouth.

A cold crisp "good night" was spat at her thrice, and they threw open the door and left.

She covered her face with fingers of ice and slumped.

When she felt her knees stop shaking, she got up, collected her wand from where she'd dropped it, closed the door, and locked it for the first time she could ever remember. Tomorrow she would buy more locks. Stronger locks. Nodding to herself, she sniffed at the burned cocoa and set it to soaking in hot suds. Another clatter, another pot, some more milk, some more sugar, some more cocoa.

She set the spoon to stirring again, and tried to recall where she'd stashed the banana bread she'd made yesterday.

When everything was ready, she followed her best silver tray up the stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

William Hardy was retired. He was also a man of routine. He paid for his paper on the same day, every year, and he stopped for a beer at the same pub, every Friday. He'd lived alone for as long as anyone had known, and he said he liked it just that way. So somebody noticed when he started buying more groceries than usual.

"Got a guest?"

"Bah!," he scowled and batted air with his hand as though shoving such a notion away. Then he added some apples he'd never particularly cared for to his basket and paid the nosy man.

He bought new bed sheets, which he hadn't done in over fifty years, and which anyone would have supposed he was due for if he hadn't bought three sets of the smallest kind. He was not a big man by any means, but he was not a small one either.

He stopped at the bookstore and bought a rudimentary spellbook he had outgrown decades ago and refused to reply to the politely solicitous "Will that be all, sir?"

Then he bought a big bottle of Peach scented shampoo and a potion for his arthritis. The potion was generic. The shampoo was not. The cashier glanced curiously at the mostly bald man in front of him who smelled strongly of tobacco, and not at all like peaches. Then he'd hurriedly given a total, and coins had been passed with a glare.

Finally, he headed home, every so often switching shoulders, because he wasn't used to carrying so much.

William Hardy was a grouchy old man who lived by himself at the end of an excessively long path, which he never maintained, in a house surrounded by a tall stone wall and bunches of biting plants, which he did maintain. He didn't feed familiars that weren't his, and he'd been known to wave his cane angrily at owls when they dropped his Post in the wrong place. The only things people knew he liked was his privacy and pie, though a few could name half a dozen things he disliked. Woe be the child whose broom flew into Hardy's yard. If they ever saw it again, it would be thatching.

He hung his coat and hat on the rack, and removed his shoes, and settled into his lumpy old chair to read his Post and enlarged the letters so his tired old eyes could see.

He heard a shriek in the front garden, and turned the page. Good. One less plant to feed. He should take a look to see which one. With a grumble, he pushed himself to his feet and looked out the peephole before unlocking and opening the door.

Huh. Five less plants to feed then. That was three more than last month. Better coax some more vines up the walls to the roof. He'd have to re-enforce it first. He'd do it after tea when it was cooler, he decided. The time for outside tasks was later.

He picked up the wet shreds of black cloak and robe and the silvery masks, and went back inside, tossed the bloody bundle into the fire, washed his hands with some scratchy gardening soap, and returned to his paper. At precisely noon, he prepared grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. He made one cup of coffee, and five cups of sweetened pumpkin juice.

Then he called them up to eat.

"Don't forget to wash your hands!"

A tiny little witch in pigtails paused in front of him and tugged on his pants leg at his knee.

"I made you a picture."

"Oh?"

"That's you, and that's me, and that's Daisy, and that's Anna, and that's Oliver, and that's Jim."

She lisped at every "s."

Just like her father had at her age.

"It's very pretty, Amber," he told her, and she raced away with a giggle.


	3. Chapter 3

"I don't care if she's your sister, Agnes, we can't keep her children at our house!"

"But Edgar, they're just babies…You know how much I've always wanted a baby! And you know I- " she began to cry- "can't."

He never knew what to do with her when she was in this state.

"I know, sweetheart, but this isn't the way. What will the neighbors say?"

"They haven't seen me in months. Invite them over tomorrow. I'll fake being pregnant."

He tried not to roll his eyes.

"Honestly Agnes, have you thought this thing through? What about papers?"

"Hestia knows a Mediwitch who'll fake them for us for 50 galleons."

"Fifty galleons is a lot of money. And what if we get caught?"

"We have the money, Edgar. We have plenty of money. But we don't have any children and Hestia has twins! And what if she gets caught, Edgar? What if Hestia gets caught with my niece and my nephew in her arms and she can't defend herself or the babies? What then Edgar?"

He knew exactly what then. They would all be killed. Tortured first if the Dark Lord thought she might know anything useful. Like the whereabouts of that rotten Potter. Ordinarily, he wouldn't give it much thought, but ordinarily Agnes wasn't crying. Oh for Merlin's sake! What was he thinking? It was absolutely insane!

"Now Agnes-" he started.

"Please, Edgar?"

She threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, still sniffling.

It wasn't completely crazy, he told himself, as he inhaled the scent of her perfume. It really had been a long time since they'd seen the neighbors, and they did have the money…and it would make Agnes stop crying. It would make Agnes happy. She was so damn beautiful when she smiled, and he loved to hear her laugh. Best of all though, were other things that happened when Agnes was happy. He smiled.

"Alright."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Oh Edgar!"

She tugged him and kissed him, and ran to the Owl that still waited in the windowsill. He watched her scratch at a blank scroll with an inkless quill and shook his head. She dipped it in green and tucked a lock of loose hair behind one ear and began again with a careful hand.

"Let me know if you need anything from the stores."

"I've already made out a list."

He glanced at it briefly before tucking it into his pocket:

_Baby powder_

_Baby oil_

_Silver snake decals_

_Formula_

_Green yarn_

_Baby bottles_

_Milk_

_Eggs_

_Butter_

_Raisins_

_Cinnamon_

_Mint_

_Leg of lamb_

_Eye of newt_

_Hair of dog_

_Ear of hog_

_Hand of monkey_

He'd be lucky to live to regret this, because at least then he'd be alive. He sighed and collected his black cloak and silver mask from where they hung by the door and left.

Agnes patted her eyes dry with her handkerchief and sent the owl away.

Humming a little, she decided she'd call them Blanche and Edric. She'd always wanted a girl to name Blanche and a boy to name Edric.

She called for the House Elf and began to issue commands.

"Go to wherever you've stored the baby things and bring them to me. Then clear out the storage room and paint the walls with some of the leftover minty green from the old color in the parlor. When that's dry and aired, I want you to move the cradle and dresser in. Then if you can find that old thing, oh what is it called? It goes over a cradle and it turns? Do you know what I'm talking about?"

The little House Elf nodded mutely.

"Then go! Right now. Go on!"

The House Elf hurried away, anxious to obey at once.

"Wait! Before you go, I'd like some tea."

There was so much to plan for. So much to do! She needed a break just thinking about it all.


	4. Chapter 4

Cardia Wilde edged closer to the fire. She was bulky as a bear in her furs, but she was still cold. It had been easier to get warm in a house. That was of course, before a bunch of fools in hoods and masks destroyed her home and nearly everything in it. Thankfully, Cardia hadn't been home at the time. She'd been out hunting. Now she lived in a cave with the one surviving cauldron she'd managed to retrieve from the wreckage, and she hunted different game. It was better to be the hunter than the hunted. A collection of black cloaks made a perfectly fine bed, as far as she was concerned, And though she'd never been the best at Transfiguration, even she could make silvery bowls and cups from silvery masks. It was almost nice having faces to look at while you ate. It was almost like having company. Cardia Wilde was a very good hunter.

Tonight's menu consisted of slow roasted rabbit and a skewer of roots and tubers. To drink with it, a stolen butterbeer. Suddenly, she heard a snap- one of her traps had been sprung.

"Help! Help! Somebody let me down from here!"

She peered out the mouth of the cave.

Another one.

She spat, and listened to his screams turn to cries.

"Please," he begged "somebody help me!"

She poked at the rabbit. Still not done. Smelled good though. And the skewer should be put on now. She patiently placed it in its proper position and grumbled as she exited her home.

Just as she'd suspected. Black cloak fluttering in the wind and a silver mask that gleamed and glared in the sun.

"Oh thank Merlin! Please, you have to help me!"

"I don't have to do anything," she growled.

"I have gold! I'll pay you!"

She considered because you should always consider gold.

And then she heard a weak whimper coming from his lumpy sack.

She waved it open.

A small human child. Not a baby exactly, but not yet, from what little she knew of such things, able to talk. It made the sound again as it stared at her furs.

"Whose child is this?"

The last word came out as a hiss.

"It's just some Mudblood. I was on my way to town."

She picked up his wand from where it had fallen and cut him down.

"Oh thank you Miss! I shall repay you greatly!"

He arranged his robe and cloak so all was in order once more.

"Where were you taking it?"

"Cutler's," he replied, reaching for his wand.

She nodded. She had often brought boar tusks there to sell, back before the War.

Then she Stupified him, undressed him, re-dressed herself, and sprinkled him in hot sauce.

Then she whistled for Big Red, because a dragon had to eat too.

Dressed in his clothes, with the child in what was once his, now her sack, she was on her way.

The door creaked as she entered.

The attendant all but stood at attention when he saw who stood in his doorway. It was a different reception than she was used to, that was for sure.

She hadn't come here in a long time because she'd had little to sell that she herself didn't depend on.

"What will you give me for a Mudlblood baby?"

"The whole thing?"

She nodded, because she didn't want him to recognize her voice, even if she hadn't been here in almost a year.

"200 galleons."

Two hundred galleons for a human being. Almost as much a unicorn these days.

"I want to watch."

"Of course er…"

He didn't know if he was talking to a man or a woman. She didn't care to clue him in.

"Right this way."

She followed him to a room she'd never known was there.

Her fingers trailed across stained red tabletops and badly sharpened blades.

The child whimpered again.

"Sounds like you've got a real live one there."

She ignored him and allowed her eyes to wander until they came to rest on a vat.

"What is that?"

"That's where we tan the hides."

"It doesn't smell bad."

"New formula."

"Effective?"

"Oh yes."

"Show me."

"Of course!"

He leaned over while reaching in, and she pushed him and sealed the heavy lid.

Then she went to the front of the store and turned the lights off and put the "Closed" sign in the window.

She looked in the sack. The child was still knocked out by whatever potion had been forced through its lips or whatever spell had been cast. Judging by the chipped front tooth, she believed it was the former rather than the latter.

She waited until she heard no more knocking and no more scratching and no more muffled screams.

Then she blew up the building.

Cardia Wilde wrapped the child in the thick black cloak and escorted it to the home of the village Mediwitch, a woman of about fifty who would know just what to do. She placed the child, ever so gently on the doorstep, and knocked with her wand from behind a tree. Rosemary Bones answered her door with a raised wand and a "Yes, what is it this time?" Her entire face softened and she began to coo when she saw the tiny form at her feet.

Cardia Wilde had a child once. A little girl she'd named Nadia. The name meant "hope" in Russian. Now Nadia was dead along with Cardia's Muggle-born husband. They had been in the house. Cardia had no place for a baby in the life she now led. But she knew there'd be room in Rosemary's house.

She watched as Rosemary administered a few drops of something in the child's nose, ears, and eyes.

The child started wailing, and Rosemary said "Oh shush now, you're safe. I've got you."

Rosemary stared out to where Cardia stood in the snow, shivering in only her robe, sweater, wool pants, and underwear. She stared right back, but Rosemary never saw her. The door shut, and Cardia trudged home to her now burned meal. It tasted pretty good with the butterbeer.


	5. Chapter 5

Margaret was scared of school. She was ten years old. Just one more year before she would get her letter. At least she hoped she'd get one. In spite of the fact she was too scared to actually go. Margaret, called "Maggot" by her brothers, was worried she was too stupid for school. Too stupid and too fat. "There's a weight limit on the novice brooms, you know," Grant told her. At ten years old she believed him. The old battered history book sat collecting dust on her desk, because at ten years old, Margaret couldn't read. She'd fooled her parents for a long time, memorizing the bedtime stories they read her, so that when it was "her turn," she'd simply recite them, word for word. They hadn't noticed. But Martin had, and he'd practically crowed the news to Grant, and Henry, and Winston. They'd meant to tell mum and dad, couldn't wait to see their faces they'd said, but then mum and dad had made their own announcement. There would be a little girl named Estelle Smart coming to stay with them. If anyone asked them, they were to say Estelle wasn't there.

"But why should we say she isn't here?"

"Because Estelle is…half-Muggle. Please, none of you can't tell anybody. Not by Floo, not by Owl, not in person, and not by any other means your devious minds can devise. Understand? This is very important. Do you understand?"

They all nodded.

"Do you really understand what could happen if you tell anyone?"

"They'd take her away and lock her up," Grant said.

"They'd kill her in front of all of us, and then they'd start in on us," Henry had said.

"Why does she have to stay with us?" Winston had asked.

"Because "

"Margaret, she'll be staying in your room."

Margaret had listened, and worried. Not about Death Eaters, no, but of what the other girl would say when she found she'd be staying with a chubby clumsy stupid girl like herself. The only other times she'd seen other girls had been at the train station, where they'd all stared at her. At least that's what her brothers had whispered at her. And that's what it had felt like.

She ran upstairs to toss her baby toys into boxes. She wouldn't want Estelle to get the wrong impression, she didn't play with them after all, just kept them around because her grandparents had made them for her. They always liked seeing them when they came to visit.

Estelle had come, three hours later than expected, wearing Ravenclaw blue and carrying a single bag that was filled almost to bursting with books. It thumped as she set it down, despite being slow and gentle with it. She smiled when she saw the poster of a galloping and rearing unicorn in the snowy woods that Margaret had forgotten to take down.

"Pretty poster. I love unicorns."

The odd thing was, it sounded sincere.

"I'm Margaret," she mumbled.

"Estelle," was the confident reply. "Oooo! Is that the history book about Hogwarts?"

"Uhm."

"I've been trying to get my hands on a copy of this for ages! Do you mind if I read a bit? Or are you reading it right now?"

"You can read it."

"Oh thank you! You have no idea how long and how badly I've wanted to read that book! Oh! I might have one for you. I just finished one on unicorns. Silvia Weiss spent ten years studying them in their natural habitat. She's a great writer. You should give it a try. Here, just let me find it…"

She made neat little stacks of books that quickly stretched towards the door.

"OK."

"Eureka! Here it is."

It had a blue cover with a picture of a unicorn, drinking from a clear lake in the moonlight. The pages were silver. She opened it up, glancing again at the picture on the front to be sure she had it oriented correctly- that's how her brothers had caught her. The first page, the title and the author's name, she presumed, was just a jumble of letters as usual. She really wanted to know what it said. She turned the page. Something about the spacing was different. There was more space between each letter and more space between each sentence. _I sat as quietly as I could, just watching…_

"Oh, I forgot! Your parents will probably have to fix the font. Right now I've got it adjusted so this girl in my dorm room can read it. She has funny eyes. Here, I'll give you another."

"Uhm…It's OK. I mean, if you don't mind, I'd like this one," Margaret blushed.

Estelle shrugged. "OK, but if you change your mind, just let me know. I've got plenty more."

Margaret held her breath and hugged the book to her chest.

Estelle had gone on to do the "loads of assignments" her Professors had given her- after weeks of pestering. She didn't want to fall behind.

Margaret settled on the edge of her bed and began to read. It took time to get through that first book, even though Estelle said it was short. She was still reading it when her father rushed into her room a week and a half later, shouting "Where's Estelle? We have to hide Estelle! Get upstairs, into the attic. Our strongest charms around the attic. You have to go there now!"

Estelle blinked once, and then ran for the ladder, wide eyed.

Her father hurriedly transfigured the extra mattress into a pile of blankets and threw them at the end of her bed then ran downstairs.

She heard unfamiliar voices shouting, and her mother's calm answers. Then the phrase she had heard a million times. "Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea? I just made some éclairs this afternoon. You really must try some." The response was not what she'd heard a million times. Not even close.

They clamored up the stairs in a black mass.

Margaret took a look around and shut the door. She heard three slow knocks as she tossed the clothes in Estelle's bag into her hamper. "In a minute! I'm just getting changed." Thank Merlin they paused long enough for her to fold the mess of sheets into some sort of regularity and store them all in her closet. Then, suddenly seeing she was surrounded by books she'd never read, she shoved as many books as she could into the closet as well.

Another set of knocks came and she answered, smoothing her robe and hair.

She pretended she was surprised by the strangers on the other side.

"Hello?"

She'd muttered it like a question, and for all that her brothers teased her for being hefty, the first one breezed right past her, as though she wasn't even there.

She tried to follow the eyes that were hidden behind the silver mask. He gazed at the bed with the open book, the poster, the locked trunk full of toys, the closet door still slightly ajar, and the bookshelf full of statues- unicorns, mostly. Then his eyes came to rest somewhere between the bookshelf and the bed.

She missed the last stack. It was hidden in plain sight by the window.

"One of your brothers here says you can't read," he sneered. "I'll let you guess for yourself which one."

She gulped.

He leaned forward and picked up a book from the pile.

"Read this."

Her hands seems steady enough when she took it from him, though she had no idea how. She flipped to the first page.

Thank Merlin! It was just like the other!

She began to read out loud:

"There were many reasons the Goblin rebellion of 1612 failed. Gerk…Gerk…Gerklurker the Great was dead before the first battle even started, and without Gerk..Gerklurker to lead them, the Brown-"

"That's enough. Search her room."

He snapped the book shut, inexplicably annoyed. She looked back to the doorway where her family stood, her mother's hand twitching towards her wand as she watched. Her brothers looked dumbfounded.

Margaret-called-Maggot smiled, the briefest of snaggletoothed smiles.

"Whose wand is that?"

Estelle's. "Mine."

"Open this trunk."

"I can't. I'm underaged."

"Then why do you have a wand?"

"I found it in the woods near Batscove."

"Batscove! Ha!"

He sounded a little like Winston.

"Alohamora."

The lock popped off and the trunk sprang open. A hundred homemade animals and dolls and dolls sprang out of it.

She blushed.

"Search it."

One of the other hooded figures complied, tossing swans and ducklings and pink dragons everywhere.

"Just toys."

"Search the closet."

The closet was opened. He snorted at the tumble of tomes, and halfheartedly shuffled the shoes and dresses and robes where they hung. Her father stared at where she'd neatly stacked the sheets, then must have realized what he was doing because his eyes snapped over to the trunk again.

The stranger waved his wand in some sort of arcane gesture which revealed nothing.

"Search the boys rooms next."

"Who would put any kind of girl in a boy's room? What sort of parents would we be?"

Margaret followed along to each of her brothers' rooms in turn and watched as their rooms were searched just as hers had been, and they too were questioned just as she had been.

She tried to hide three more smiles and she tried not to glance up at the ceiling where the ladder came from.

She never could figure which had been harder.

Later, she found out her mother had been clever and had sealed it and charmed it to look like any other part of the ceiling. A fancy bit of charm work performed from her bedroom doorway. So there had been more than one reason that hand had twitched towards her wand.

The day after that, Margaret received her letter from Hogwarts.


End file.
